


The Flaws in our Equation

by starkind



Series: Genius In The Making [5]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Tragedy, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drug Abuse, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Moving On, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1990 marks the beginning of a new decade.<br/>A decade in which Tony and Bruce have a lot to decide.<br/>They have been drifting apart for so long; can they grow back together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be the final instalment of what I've lovingly come to call 'the college boys AU'. 
> 
> Any potential triggers should either be in the tags or given at the beginning of the respective chapter - though if you've read the previous parts, you already know what to expect..

Princeton University, 1990  
  
His second chance education went far more smooth from the get-go than Bruce had assumed. He picked different subjects from Princeton's B. S. E program and settled for Operations Research & Financial Engineering, with Chemical and Biological Engineering coming in second. Despite not being any kind of socializer, Bruce had somehow made the acquaintance of a certain Virginia Potts.

She was one year younger, studied business management, and had real red hair. “I hate it so much! People always comment on it, it's driving me nuts. Think I'll go and dye it.” The two of them sat in their usual spot at PJ's Pancake House on campus, watched students walk past, and talked about nothing in particular. Mostly it was Virginia who talked and Bruce who listened while he chain-smoked half a pack in two hours.

“Don't do it, Gina. You're looking good the way you are.” The young woman watched him flick his cigarette against the ashtray. Then she beamed. “Why Brix, _you_ are complimenting _me?_ Gotta mark that one in the calendar as a first here.” Bruce found the peculiar nickname she had given him after the first few weeks rather amusing. With pursed lips, he stubbed the remains of his cigarette into the ashtray.

“Your opinion on me is downright shocking.” His tone was sullen, but Virginia meanwhile knew how to take him and his weird humor. “I can make it up to you by helping you out with financial mathematics.” She glimpsed at the small watch with its worn-out leather strap. “But not before Monday, cause I got late shifts over the weekend.” Virginia sighed and ran a hand through shoulder-length, straight hair.

Bruce nodded, dug for his wallet and paid for their coffees and pancakes. He always did, despite Gina's honest protests. While she knew nothing about his financial status, he knew she worked hard for her tuition fees. “You're coming round to keep me some company maybe? It's always such a drag past 10 pm.” As he stood, backpack in one hand, Bruce cast her a sparse smile.

“I might pop in and say hi.”

* * *

"I might pop in and say hi. It's been over a year now, he's not gonna believe his eyes.”  
  
Tony Stark, age 20, and having obtained his Ph.D. in engineering mere months ago, tapped the letter from Princeton University against his thigh and strutted through the living room of his parents' town house in New York. Edwin Jarvis eyed his agitated protege with a sideways glance and continued to dust off the glass cabinet with its expensive crystal whiskey tumblers.

“How can you be sure you will see or meet him? Princeton is no small boarding school, and you've barely found out he's there.” Tony harrumphed and threw himself on the couch. “I can't. But it says here _'Dear Mr. Stark, we are looking forward to having you on campus as a guest speaker'_. Which means I can snoop around, find out where he lives, see which lectures he's attending – that kinda thing.”

The butler gave a humming affirmation and went on to a nearby bookshelf. “That sounds like stalking to me, Anthony, and it might not have the desired outcome if things go wrong.” The young Stark heir stopped making a paper plane out of his invitation letter and snorted. “Things never go wrong if you have a plan. Which I do.” Jarvis put the feather duster aside and reached for a wiping cloth.

“At least go ahead and give him a call beforehand. He'll be confused enough on how you found him. Some people just don't like surprises, Tony, mark my words.” The Stark scion rolled his eyes for the butler to see and picked at his socked toes. “Bruce ain't one of those people. I know him, he knows me. We're friends. I'm gonna pack!” Edwin Jarvis stared after him as he jumped to his feet and trampled upstairs into his room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I admit, I'm shamelessly scavenging from my "Gradual Improvement" verse here because I really like this headcanon of Bruce and Pepper having met at Princeton in the 90's.


	2. Chapter 2

If he was honest with himself, Bruce was not really in the mood to go and visit Gina during her working hours. He had just finished a long, grueling workout at the campus gym, had to get up at 7 am the next day for his class, and was in dire need to have a look at his books beforehand. Still, he had promised her, and Bruce always made sure to keep his promises.

He decided to take his notes on financial mathematics with him, to maybe steal a few helpful tricks off of her after all. Taking the stairs, he dug into the back pocket of his jeans for the keys to his room. His roommate would also be around, which was something Bruce had to get accustomed to again. Sharing an apartment with another guy solely on a platonic level had been awkward at first.

That time, however, Bruce was sure he harbored no feelings whatsoever for his new companion. Steven Rogers was 22-years-old like Wayne, had piercing blue eyes and blonde hair he usually wore in a very short, very spiky way. He was complaisant, overly polite, and with regards to the opposite sex shy to the point that it even made reticent Bruce Wayne look like a Casanova. The only time he went wild was on the football field.

Steve was the designated captain of the Princeton Tigers' roster.

When he was not busy scoring for his team, he was on his way to receive a B. A. in political science and history. His dissertation of Federalism & Intergovernmental Relationship was one of the things he loved to talk about; his voice full of enthusiasm. Bruce usually let him ramble on during their mutual workouts, seeing Rogers was about the same height and weight as him, also liked to lift heavy and was able to spot him.

“... and there was one time, he even had to bail me out of jail! Boy, I tell you, the look on his face...”

Bruce stopped and stared at the scenery unfolding in front. On the small couch in their equally small living room sat a familiar young man with tanned features, a suave and super-gelled hairdo, and the most charming grin on his face. Tony wore a black leather jacket, faded jeans, and a white shirt. Upon his entry, Tony and Steve, who was listening with rapt attention, turned to see him in the doorway, backpack in hand.

Steve saw the instant displease on his roommate's face and began to wave his hands about, gesturing from Tony to Bruce and back. “Bruce, hiya. Tony asked me to wait here for you, I told him it's alright. It is alright, isn't it? He just got here, and...” Hazel eyes darted in between the tall blonde and the short dark-haired boy who still grinned. “You're rambling, Steven.”  
  
Rogers snapped his mouth shut and stole a glance at their unplanned visitor. Tony rose from the couch, making Bruce unconsciously roam his gaze all over him before locking eyes. “Geez, don't get excited, Your Highness. Aren't you just a little bit happy to see me?” At Tony's Star Wars quip, Steve chuckled, but Bruce just continued to glare. “You could've called beforehand. I don't like surprises. What are you doing here?”

Stark jr. popped a blueish bubble of chewing gum and shoved his palms flat into the pockets of his tight jeans.  
“I'm a guest speaker at a biophysics seminar. Reverse engineering neutrophil polarity network.”  
Steve looked downright nonplussed and impressed. Not a single muscle on Bruce's face moved.  
  
“Uh-huh.”

With an air of arrogance, Tony put up an important look and shifted up on his toes.  
“Yeah, but it's really no biggie – read up on that subject last night, so all's good.”  
His eyes flew from Steve back to a glowering Bruce Wayne.

“Hey, how about we go out for some drinks? Catch up? You show me around? That'd be great.”  
Tony then began to bounce on his feet, rocking back and forth. Bruce's eyes narrowed.  
“I'm busy now, I have to study. If anything, we can meet at Village Pizza at 9:30 pm.”  
  
All of Bruce's body language screamed 'get out'. Tony simply put up his most charming grin.  
“Sure. Catch ya later then, B. Hey, but.... Steve, you're gonna come along, maybe?”  
The blonde gave a polite smile, scooted to the rim of the sofa and put his elbows on his thighs.  
  
“If that's alright with Bruce, why not. I've got some time to kill before training.”  
Tony did not fail to notice the insecure glance Steve cast the morose Gothamite.  
“Whatever.”  
  
Turning on his heel, Bruce reinforced his grip on his bag and disappeared in his room.  
Busting another huge bubble of gum with an audible snap, Tony hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans and grinned at Steve.  
“Think that was a yes. C'mon, let's go.”

With a peculiar glimpse over at the closing door, Tony Stark waited for his spontaneous guide to throw over a jacket and take him on a tour around Princeton campus. When Steve had to leave him an hour later, Tony settled for a cafe on campus to spend the remaining time alone.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Over punctual, which was uncommon for him, Tony entered the diner on campus avenue at 9:15. The little restaurant was moderately packed with students sipping on their drinks, some munching on food. Stark Jr let his gaze wander around until they fixated the counter where a slender girl was sorting tableware. She looked up as the bells over the door jingled at his entry, gave him the eye, and Tony decided to go for it.

He flipped the collar of his leather jacket up, put a hand in his pocket, and sauntered over in a casual manner. She was taller than him by a few inches and put the rag aside from where she had wiped the counter. Tony took the cigarette from the corner of his mouth to stub it out in a nearby ashtray. His eyes focused on the little name plate on her chest. Then he rubbed his chin with two fingers.

“Hey. How are you... Virginia? I hope you don't live up to that name, cuz that'd be a shame.”  
She cast him a nondescript smile.  
“Welcome at Villa Pizza. What can I get you?”

Tony squinted upwards at the neon-lit menu and drummed his fingers in a steady rhythm on the plastic. “Anything you'd recommend? What's the daily special? You?” The girl exhaled, a trifle louder than necessary, and also glanced up to wave a hand about. “We are a pizza parlor. There's pizza. All of which you can see.” The Stark heir gave a non-offended chuckle and wiggled his eyebrows at her.  
  
“Pretty _and_ feisty, that's nice. I like that. So... pizza. Yeah, no, make that just a Coke.” With a polite incline of the head, Virginia typed his order into the register and went to get his drink. Tony made a point in stripping the drinking straw out of its wrapping paper with overly slow movements. He took a few first sips before he slipped a folded $ 20 bill over the counter.

“Keep the rest. So, how 'bout you and me later on? When are you off the clock?”  
Her mouth warped into something akin to disgust as she slipped the change back over to him.  
“How about no. I don't date minors.”

Tony broke into a shrewd grin and brushed the money aside with a careless sleeve.  
“I'm an engineering master, baby. You may have heard of me. Name's Tony Stark.”  
Virginia narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down, more than unimpressed.  
  
“Can't say I have.”  
He shrugged his shoulders and chewed on the straw.  
“Doesn't matter, I've always enjoyed a challenge.”

The redhead ignored him as she collected his unwanted money and put it into the joint tip jar.  
“Go find it somewhere else then, I'm not interested.”  
Stark Jr pushed out his bottom lip and made a disapproving sound.

“Don't like me? I'm cute.”  
Virginia fixated him with ice-cold blue eyes.  
“You're annoying as hell.”  
  
All winsome, Tony pushed himself up on folded arms onto the counter and leaned over.  
“I could give you hot as hell in between the sheets if you like. Never done a real redhead.”  
The girl dug under the counter. Seconds later, she held up a can of pepper spray into Tony's face.

“I could give you this for a night out at the ER if _you_ like.”  
Lightning fast, Tony jumped back and held up his palms.  
“Whoa hey, take it easy, sister. I was just kidding.”

Her eyes narrowed in on him.  
“Sorry to break it to you, but you're not funny. Get lost.”  
The Stark heir gave her a once over, coupled with a lopsided, nasty smirk.

“Gladly. There's lots prettier around than you, fish stick. Toodles.”

With an air of breezy arrogance, Tony took his drink and sashayed on towards a sitting booth. He had forgotten about the unpleasant encounter as soon as he spotted a familiar physique entering the diner. He waved Steve and Bruce over and stood up, pointing at the counter. “Moosh, good to see you! Listen up, you won't believe what happened – that fire crotch over there almost pepper-sprayed me. Can you believe it?”

The taller boy followed his friend's finger over to where the girl in question stood behind the bar and caught their glances. Before Tony had time to react, Bruce pressed him back into the leather bench seat. His forearm was sitting on Tony's windpipe, causing the shorter boy to croak out in pained surprise. His fingers clawed at the solid force to no avail. Bruce's eyes flashed with ire.

“What did you just say about Gina?”  
Wayne's voice held a dangerous undertone, to which Tony blinked rapidly in confusion.  
“Gee, fuck, what the hell, Bruce! Lemme go, man!”  
  
From the corner of his eye, Tony saw the redhead walk into their direction.  
“Brix – don't tell me you know this creep?”  
The Gothamite threw her a brief, apologetic glance.  
  
“Former roommate of mine. He used to have better manners back in the days. Some at least.”  
Wayne then snarled back at the dumbfounded expression of his longtime friend.  
“You're going to apologize to her, Tony. For whatever shit you've been trying to pull.”  
  
The shorter boy looked from Bruce to Virginia and back. Then he furrowed his brows.  
“Gina? _Bricks?_ What's with the lovey-dovey nicknames? You two gettin' married soon or what?”  
Regret lay in Bruce's eyes, but also a certain kind of spite. He released Tony with a small shove.  
  
“She's a good friend of mine, and anything else is none of your damn business, _Anthony._ ”  
Tony made a surrendering gesture and flashed the miffed looking redhead a gigawatt smile.  
“Gotcha, gotcha. Hey, sorry bout earlier on, kay? No hard feelings... Pepper.”

It got him a one-finger salute from her in return.

 


	4. Chapter 4

During all the commotion, Steve had taken a seat in the booth and watched the brief episode between Bruce and Tony with interest. Once matters were settled, the Gothamite chose to stay at the bar, leaving Tony no other option than to sit and keep Steve company. “What was that all about? Bruce looked ready to kill you.” Rogers popped the rest of a bread stick into his mouth and gave Tony a curious look.  
  
“Ah, no, a little misunderstanding, 's all. We're good.” He turned to look over to where Wayne and the redhead had put their heads together and were talking intently about something. Tony's lips then twitched, and he tore his gaze away. “She his Girl Friday or what?” Steve followed his line of view and nodded. “Gina's the only one he puts up with willingly. Except me, well, most of the times at least.”  
  
Gnawing at his bottom lip, Tony stole another glimpse at his former best friend. Bruce's posture had switched from coiled up tension to being at ease. Once he had caught Tony's furtive glances, Bruce became all the more nonchalant, up to the point where he leaned in to whisper in Virginia's ear. She broke into a laugh and nudged his chest with a fist. Tony looked away and began to dissect the salt and pepper dispensers on the table.

“Tell him to stop flirting and to get his butt over here.” Not one to argue, Steve scooted out of his seat and sauntered over to the bar. He interrupted the conversation with a hearty slap on Bruce's back, and even though Tony was unable to hear what they were saying, he watched Rogers also speak a few words with Virginia. Steve got himself a coke, Bruce a ginger ale, and dragged his morose roommate back to their table.

All smiles, Tony motioned for Bruce to sit next to him and was surprisingly even granted his wish. “Yeah, so, Moosh, how's things? Heard you're going down the entrepreneur route now? Nifty.” His overly cheeky grin then increased as Tony took the straw from his almost empty coke and began to chew on it. “Desk jockey jobs are nothing for me, personally, but to each his own.” Bruce felt his stomach starting to churn.

“Just shows how very little you actually know about life, apart from what makes your own gear-headed world go round.” Steve's eyebrows rose half an inch in silent surprise at the snide remark. Tony laughed him off, but Bruce saw the flicker of vexation in his dark eyes. “Steve was a really good tour guide earlier on. How was training by the way? Did you score?” Tony locked his gaze onto the blonde and got a modest shake of the head.

“Just basics today, nothing really strenuous or anything. We got a game this Saturday.” With a flirtatious grin, Tony leaned over the table to make a move for Steve's biceps. “Your guns speak another language, lemme see... yup, definitely ace.” Bruce's fingers curled around his drink but he kept his gaze fixed on something in the distance. Tony put his chin on his hand while he kept on idling the straw around the bottom of the glass.

“Hey, I might just come around to watch you play. For reals. When's the game? What time?”   
At that, Bruce slammed his ginger ale down onto the tabletop with more force than necessary.  
“Can I just talk to you for a sec, Tony? Let's go get some cigarettes.”  
  
Without waiting for an answer Wayne stood up briskly and towered over them; arms akimbo. Tony cast Steve a final, quite smoldering look and slid out of the booth. “You don't smoke, I assume? Fit guy like you would prolly not. See? Knew I was right. It's a real shitty habit anyhow. Be back in a sec.” Hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, Tony whistled along as he tried to keep up with the fast stride of the Gothamite in front.

As soon as they had rounded the corner to the restrooms, steel-like fingers were on his arm, then Tony found himself propelled into the wall. “What the hell do you think you're doing here? Rogers is a decent guy, alright? Stop messing with him.” Bruce's eyes blazed with irritation and contempt. Tony hooked his thumbs into his jeans. “Easy, cowboy, he your boyfriend or what? That's why you're all jealous and huffed up?”

The way Tony said it made Bruce's right hand twitch, but he tried to relax his taut muscles. “No he's not, but that doesn't mean you can barge in and get everybody all riled up.” Tony's were dull and lifeless as he attempted a meek smile and rocked back on his heels. ”Might gonna blow him coupl'a times, who knows. I don't. Maybe I even let him fuck me.” The sound of skin hitting skin filled the air immediately after.

Flabbergasted, Tony held his cheek and stared at the furious countenance of his friend. Wayne's chest was heaving as he jabbed an index finger at Tony's chest. “Don't, just... don't.” While Bruce was having trouble containing his fury, Tony sneered him with eyes cold as stone. “What? Should know by now your friend's a whore, Moosh. And a fucking good one at that.” Bruce ground his jaw and clenched his hands.

“I don't have such a friend. I don't even know you anymore.” Tony's crude laugh send chills down Bruce's spine. He jerked back when two hands groped for his crotch. “Even easier then. Been a while, B, how 'bout it? You were always the one to _really_ get me off...” Wayne furrowed his brows in disgust and despair, smacked the fumbling fingers away, and shook his head as he stepped back.

“You sick pig. Get out of my face and out of my life. Forever!” Shoulders quivering from anger, Bruce Wayne swung around and marched away. Away from Tony Stark and his downward spiral into an abyss filled with sex, drugs, and self-deception. The latter's face twisted in unleashed rage and he kicked a trash bin to his left with force. “Yeah, best idea ever! And fuck you, too, Wayne – fuck you, too! Good riddance!”

Tony left the diner and Princeton no ten minutes later, without goodbyes.

His shaking fingers fumbled with the plastic lid of his emergency opiate stack as he stood in a phone booth, receiver wedged between ear and shoulder, and called a cab. After taking a double dose, Tony was out of it from the moment he got into the backseat. He slurred at the driver to take him to New York as fast as possible. The man bent down to pick up the two $100 bills the wild-eyed teenager had thrown at him, and set off.  
  
He did his best in ignoring his passenger's gut-wrenching sobs on the backseat during the 1-hour drive through the night.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“I'm going to Japan to study abroad.”  
The redhead stopped scribbling for a moment and looked up. Then she continued with her notes.   
“Next semester then. Where exactly do you wanna go? Any ideas?”

“My flight leaves tomorrow morning.”  
Her binder landed on the tiled floor of PJ's Pancake House with a loud clatter.  
“What? You can't be serious! Finals are in less than two months – you can't just go and leave!”

Bruce made a move to pick the item up and place it back in front of her on the table.  
“Spoke with the dean this morning. I'm officially out as of today.”  
Virginia's right hand came up to cover her mouth in shock. Her eyes darted over his calm face.

“Brix, why? Why now? Nonono, go and tell him it was a mistake, tell him you thought it over...”  
The Gothamite interrupted her panicked ramblings by placing his hand upon her left.  
“It's what I've got to do, Gina. I don't expect you to understand, I just wanted to tell you.”

Subdued she glanced from their joint hands back up to his face.  
“Why, you... you would've left without telling me otherwise?”  
When he averted her gaze, she shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Of course. Why do I even ask.”  
Bruce studied the blue metallic nail polish on her thumb with a thoughtful frown.  
“I'll write you some time.”

Virginia Potts broke into a quiet chuckle. The fingers of her left hand then twisted until she had them intertwined them with his. “No you won't. But it's okay, that's just how you are. I... understand.” Bruce raised his head. Gina smiled at him, despite a sudden shimmer in her eyes. “Let me at least give you a ride to the airport.” Unable to hold her gaze for long, he stared into his empty coffee cup and nodded.  
  
“Sure.”

* * *

Bruce Wayne arrived in Japan at the beginning of its economic turmoil and recession period. On top of all its financial problems, Japan also did not have the level of exposure to western influences as the young Gothamite had suspected it to have, in the year 1991. Foreigners were seen as weird, which resulted in an implicit form of bullying on his person.

The first time he got exposed to a certain kind of hostility was when he tried to take some spontaneous audit courses at the University of Tokyo. He had not bothered to get registered at the renowned public faculty, and the way he got treated made him turn on his heel and leave. Not having anything particular in mind for spending his time, Bruce then decided to explore the country by train, hitchhiking, and on foot.

Springtime in Japan was something else, even to someone as leery and non-enthusiastic as him. Cherry blossom season as it was called was a marvelous nature spectacle, and he spent the first week of April taking pictures with a cheap little Kodak single use camera. Equipped with a huge backpack, Bruce went looking for a way to expand his horizon without having to rely on his unlimited access to cash and amenities.

The experience of having to work for getting food and a place to sleep at was completely new to the young Gothamite. Soon, he found himself scrubbing dirty, greasy rice cookers at a small sushi bar, five nights a week. The owner, a bald and very short, elder Japanese citizen, yelled at him most of the time but kept him around to carry heavy bags of rice from the storage room into the kitchen.

It was definitely not the worst, but also not the most pleasant time of Bruce's young life.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Summer gave way to autumn, and Bruce got better at speaking and understanding Japanese.  
  
Once he had enough of his clothes and hair reeking of rice and vinegar each day and night, he left the sushi bar to travel on further, towards northwest Kyoto. Up there, surrounded by lush green scenery, he stumbled across the heavy gates of an ancient monastery named Ryōan-ji. The so-called 'Temple of the Dragon at Peace' intrigued Wayne Jr, and he mustered up all of his courage to ask for shelter.  
  
The monks were accommodating and fairly friendly towards him and offered him a place to stay as long as he would follow their rules and showed respect. After a long period of going without any rules, Bruce Wayne struggled with getting integrated into the daily rituals at first. His days would start at 5 am with prayers and cleaning, before eating breakfast and joining the monks at meditating.  
  
Especially the latter was awkward to him. During those quiet hours, his thoughts involuntarily strayed to Tony, and Bruce hated himself for being unable to forget. He tried to quench his hurt and yearning by being angry; trying to make himself hate his former friend, but that only led to needing a catalyst for his pent-up ire.   
  
The monastery also held frequent martial arts tournaments, which he was allowed to attend as a guest viewer only. When he expressed his interest in obtaining armed combat, most monks all but laughed in his face. Eventually, though, he found someone to introduce him to the topic of jujitsu. Most nights, Bruce hobbled back to his sparse room, barely able to walk upright.

There, he twisted and turned on the hard futon bed, trying to find a position to sleep in that did not hurt. Still, he went and dragged his mangled body into the training hall each and every day anew. Upon seeing his determination, the monks began to pay him respect and included him in their training sessions.

It took a lot of time, but he managed to learn the correct striking techniques, found out how to grapple, counter and throw long hook punches, and improved his leg work. When his teachers referred to him as 'American jujutsuka' at some point, young Bruce Wayne simply bowed with stoic impassiveness, but inwardly he beamed with youthful pride.

He got his purple belt just a couple of days before the first snow of the year began to fall in Kyoto.

Winter time came and with the cold. From his usual place, in the garden outside the tea house, Bruce sat in a perfectly executed lotus position, stared out into a soundless, never ending fall of white flakes and the snow-covered landscape, and enjoyed the serenity that surrounded him. As he sipped on his small cup of Matcha tea, he mulled over the fact that it was less than two weeks until Christmas.

Memories of his childhood mingled with those of the past Christmas times he and Tony had spent together, and they made him frown around the rim of his cup. Tony. Always Tony. Even after Bruce had managed to dampen his longing for the past couple of weeks with growing success. Without knowing how or why, Bruce's thoughts again began to stray as the days went on, together with a nagging, inner restlessness.

His mentors saw the change in him and his lack of concentration without having to address the topic themselves.  
  
And so Bruce Wayne left Ryōan-ji several days later, with many heartfelt wishes for the future, and a promise to return someday to finish his novice Katana sword fighting lessons. Dressing into his regular clothes was weird at first. His shirts and jacket were fitting far more snug around his chest and shoulders than before, and he thought of the traditional black robe at the bottom of his backpack.  
  
Hidden underneath a hood against the idly falling snow, he hiked his way back into Tokyo's high-end civilization.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_'Howard and Maria Stark Die in Car Accident on Long Island'_

Numb, Bruce read the headline of the Washington Times over and over again. His fingers clawed into the paper as he regarded the sepia photograph of the man he had once met, back in 1986. Next to it, another picture showed a coffin with the American flag on top. After a long while, Bruce let the paper sink and massaged the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger.  
  
The hustle and bustle around him vanished into nothingness as he sat over coffee at the Tsutaya books and international press store in Roppongi Hills, while his mind spun in circles. After he paid for his drink and the paper, Bruce searched his pockets for some more change and went for the public phone booths down at the ground floor. It took two tries for a stable connection, and several rings until the line got picked up.  
  
“Wayne Manor, Pennyworth speaking?”  
Bruce turned his back on the busy scenery and pressed the receiver close to his ear.  
“Alfred, it's me. I just – did you read the news?”  
  
The butler remained composed as usual, despite not having spoken to his protege for months.  
“Master Bruce. I believe you are talking about the fateful accident regarding the Stark family?”  
The young Wayne heir cast eyes down at the paper again.  
  
“I'm coming home, but I need to go to New York as soon as possible. Tony, his parents, I...”  
Without having to say anything further, Pennyworth hummed his consent over the line.  
“Of course, Sir. I will make flight reservations right away.”

The young man who opened the door was a shadow of his former self.  
  
Haggard, hunched-over, and sickly pale, Tony Stark stood in the doorway of his parents' townhouse and stared at his visitor. He was dressed in a too big gown on top of a pair of boxer shorts and a stained t-shirt. “Bruce... I... M-my gosh.” Stark Jr tried to smother down his unkempt hair to no avail and ran a palm over stubbly cheeks. Feeling beyond awkward, Bruce's hands clenched at his sides.  
  
“I've... read the news. I'm-- sorry.”  
Tony stepped aside and made a sweeping gesture.  
“Come on in. The paps are everywhere these days.”  
  
The heavy door fell into its lock with a massive thud. The foyer smelled stale and musty, and Bruce tried to take shallow breaths. “Where's Jarvis?” Careful not to trip over the many pairs of sneakers on the floor, Bruce followed his friend. “Retired. Off to reap the benefits of serving this nuthouse far too long. I dunno. Long gone.” Long, emerald curtains were drawn shut in all rooms they passed by.  
  
A glimpse into what was once the living room revealed an armada of empty liquor bottles and empty, crumpled cigarette packs upon the table. An overflowing ashtray stank silently into the semi-darkness. Bruce frowned in disbelief. “You're completely on your own?” He followed Tony with growing concern. The hem of the dirty robe dragged along the stairs.  
  
“I got no one. Except for Obie, but he doesn't come by round here.” Tony then turned around on the last two steps to look at him, and near missed the banister. “I'm a fuckin orphan now, B, and wanna know what? You've been right all the time – it sucks.” The attempted bravado he tried for fell short when the rest of his sentence came out a sob. Bruce reached out to steady him by the elbow and gently guided him onward.

On the second floor, the scenery repeated itself; only with an overabundance of dirty laundry and clothes strewn everywhere. The carpet was peppered with burn holes of carelessly dropped cigarettes. Bruce suppressed the urge of taking a deep breath to calm his reeling mind. His gaze unwillingly fell upon the bony nape of his friend, and the scraggly strands of hair framing it.  
  
“I'm here. But first of all – you need to shower. _Now.”_

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little rampant sex scene ahead

While Tony was busy, the Gothamite set to work. He stripped stale bed sheets and replaced them with the freshest he could find. He then went to open all windows to let fresh air in and examined the non-existent food supplies in the fridge downstairs. After scribbling down a long grocery shopping list, Bruce left it upon the untidy kitchen counter with its many dirty plates, cups, and pots.  
  
He took two glasses of water back upstairs with him and was just in time to see the door to the bathroom open. When Tony stood before him; bare-naked, vulnerable, and much too thin, Bruce's heart ached. His pain must have played on his face because the Stark heir made an attempt at a smile that failed. A visible shiver went through Tony as he walked towards him, arms spread out wide.

“D'you still want me, Bruce? All fucked up like this?”  
The Gothamite swallowed and stepped up to fetch the comforter from the nearby bed.  
“I'll always want you.”  
  
He made a move to cover the body with its erupting goosebumps. Tony's hand then reached up and stilled his motions. “Then don't smother me... look at me... take me as I am.” His voice shook as he brushed the blanket off Bruce's hands and pushed him backward. The smell of shower gel invaded his nostrils as Tony pressed him into the mattress with what little strength he still inhabited.  
  
Tony's lips found his without any further invitation, tasting of toothpaste, and Bruce wrapped his arms around as much damp, bare skin as he could cover. “Please, I-- I've gone crazy without the feel of you... the taste of you... the smell of you... Bruce...” Stark Jr quivered in his embrace even as he began to undress his friend from top to bottom. “God, you're so beautiful, so beautiful.”  
  
Tony's reverent voice moved further down and only stopped when he began to suck him off. Through the haze of pleasure, Bruce soon felt him scramble aside. Some rustling erupted, then Tony rolled a condom down his shaft with one hand, all the while kissing as much skin as he could reach. The lube in Tony's palm was cold as he slathered it all over Bruce's erection.  
  
“Scoot up and lean against the headboard.” Too enraptured to protest, Bruce did as he was told. No sooner than he had braced himself against the cushions, Tony straddled him and placed himself over his fully erect member. It dawned on Wayne what his friend was about to do, and gave another rush of blood to his twitching cock. In no time, Tony had lowered himself until he was seated on his lap.  
  
The whimpers he gave as he adjusted himself made Bruce try for a reason, despite his burning desire. “You don't have to do this. We can...” His strangled voice got cut off when Tony rolled his hips and began to move; a slow rhythm of lifting and thrusting. Through the blur of rapture, Bruce felt Tony’s own arousal pressing up against his stomach, so he reached out and began to administer gentle strokes.  
  
At that, Tony gasped, jerked his hips, and pressed into Bruce’s hand. “Feels... so-- good when... you're f-fucking me like this.” Through the staccato of his words, he reached out to grab the headboard for stability. Bruce grunted out as his hand around Tony's member lost its hold. He reached out to wrap both of his arms around his lover's slim waist instead.

The back of his head slammed against the headboard with each frantic thrust of Tony's hips. The latter then pressed his forehead to Bruce's and panted warm gusts of breath upon his face. Tony's skin was slick with sweat, and Bruce wiped his palms into the sheets. Feeling the need for even more friction, the Gothamite gripped Tony’s shoulder and started to buck his own hips up into the steady movements.  
  
This caused Tony to give a strangled wail of lust, and he breathed Bruce’s name like a desperate prayer as he kept his eyes trained on him while they clung to each other, rocking and pressing and thrusting in raw need. Bruce jutted out his chin to be rewarded with his lover's moist lips on his; nipping and sucking, their teeth scraping. Without warning, Tony then arched his back and broke their kiss with a loud cry.

His body jerked as he came undone, tensing in a way that made Wayne Jr dig his fingers hard into Tony's back as he, too, climaxed with a drawn out grunt and the breath hitching in his throat. Followed by tense whimpers, they rode out their pleasure before Tony slumped against him. “Jus' don' leave me again... I need you s'much... so much.” Sweated, slick fingers dug into the flesh of Tony's hips as Bruce took in deep gulps of air.  
  
“I won't,... I-- won't.”  



	9. Chapter 9

The funeral took place on a rainy Sunday in Washington, D.C. The drive to Arlington cemetery had been a long and arduous one; moreover silent for the most part. Fingers entwined on the backseat of a limousine, Bruce and Tony watched from behind tinted windows how the procession went past the White House. The caskets were accompanied by a joint-service drum corps of 14 members of the National Guard.

Focused on the events outside with a stone-faced look, Bruce then felt Tony's fingers slip from his hand. He turned his head and saw his friend reach for a smallish package inside his jacket. “Tony?” Not acknowledging him, Stark Jr began to draw a line of white powder upon the retractile folding table of the front seat. He twiddled with a $100 bill until it was a firm little tube.  
  
In shock and repulsion, Bruce stared at him until he eventually found his voice again.  
  
“What-- what are you doing?”  
As Stark bent forward to raise the tube to his nose, he cast him a snide, sideways glance.  
“What's it look like?”

With a short and heavy sniff, he had snorted the first half. Quick to repeat the gesture with his other nostril, Tony soon leaned back in his seat, sniffled and wiped at his nose. His head lolled over into the direction where Bruce sat; still numb to the bone at what he had just witnessed. “I can't make it through the goddamn funeral alone, Moosh - I just can't, okay?” His voice was shaky and sounded close to crying.  
  
Upon hearing his nickname for the first time in many months, Bruce reached out and touched the other boy's shoulder, almost clawing at it. “But I'm here, by your side! The whole time. Tony?” By then, the drugs had already begun to work in his friend's system. The smile Tony returned was a warped one. Out of the blue, he grabbed Bruce's fingers hard, almost pinching them.  
  
“Yeaaa. You are! Don' worry, don' worry - they won't kill us, too, Bruce, I'll make sure of that.”  
His pupils were starting to become dilated, giving him a scary, almost demon-like expression.  
“S just you n me, 'gainst the world. Remember, B? Like in the good old times.”

Within the course of the following ten minutes, Tony Stark's mood switched from depressed to euphoric to violent. Bruce Wayne took it all as stoic as possible, up to the point where he went and steadied his friend's stumbling form under an umbrella at the gathering. The soil was wet with large puddles created by the relentless torrent.  
  
The sounds of pouring rain were loud in Bruce's ears as he listened to the eulogist droning on about the ways of God, and the lives he took. Tony's fingers were like vises around his bicep as he dully stared ahead. A man that introduced himself to Bruce as Obadiah Stane approached them soon after. He put a meaty hand on Tony's shoulder, to which the latter all but flinched.  
  
“I am so sorry, my boy. Take your time to grieve, and don't worry about the company for now.”  
Stane's eyes then fixated Bruce. Something indecipherable lay in them as he curled his lip.  
“It's a good thing you've got someone to look after you there.”  
  
After Stane had disappeared within a big black Sedan, Tony's knees started to buckle violently. “Get me home, Moosh, please! Get me outta here.” Without warning, he then twisted his head sideways and began to vomit onto the wet soil until he was only dry-heaving. Bruce managed to hold him upright enough not to stain his pants on the muddy ground and guided him over to the waiting limousine.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of addictive and massively self-destructive behavior in this one! Just a precautionary measure.

The following days and nights, Tony stayed in bed. He did not eat or drink, apart from the meager sip of water or orange juice, Bruce managed to pour down his throat. The phone continued to ring; hauntingly shrill and demanding until Wayne simply ripped its cord from the wall. “Will they never leave me alone?” Tony's voice was muffled from underneath the blankets, almost startling Bruce.

“Sorry if it woke you. I promise it won't bother you anymore.”

No further sounds erupted, and Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed. With care, he put his hand where he guessed Tony's head to be and slowly pulled the blanket. A tousled mop of dark hair got visible, together with and a pair of reddened eyes. Bruce tried to force a smile on his face. “Are you hungry? It's way past dinner time.” At the mention of food, Tony curled up on the bed, clutching his stomach.  
  
"Ugh, no. No food. I need you to get me something else... Moosh, please. Just a little something for the pain." Swallowing hard, the Gothamite looked him straight in the eye and gave a slow, single shake of the head. "No. Tony, you know I can't do that." Stark Jr averted his eyes and mulled over the unsatisfactory answer. When he returned the other boy's gaze, his eyes were cold as ice.  
  
"Then I'll have to go and get it myself."  
  
He was out of the bed with unforeseen agility. Baffled, Wayne followed him, trying to catch him by his sleeve. “What!? No! Like hell you will!” Tony tore out of his tentative grip with ease and headed out of his bedroom. Bruce followed his quick stride over into the office of Stark senior, four rooms further down the hall. It was a room neither of them used, and the unerring way with which Tony went for it made Bruce suspicious.

“Wait up! What are you looking for? Some more cocaine to turn you into a real crackhead?” Enraged, Tony swung around, his right hand balled into a fist; raised and pulled back. “Get off my case you sanctimonious prick! You've got no idea how I feel!” Not using his strength to his favor was harder than expected as Bruce yanked Tony back from where he was digging through a drawer of his father's large, old desk. 

As he held him at arm's length, Tony had already managed to fish out a small package of white powder. “How can I trust you, Tony? How the fuck is this going to work?!” Bruce grabbed the pack and shoved him hard enough for Tony to lose his balance and stumble backward onto the floor. Before he had the chance to apologize, however, Stark was back on his feet, lunging for the package in his hand.

“Give it back to me! Fucking liar! If you loved me, you wouldn't do this to me!” Bruce refused, and eventually had no other choice than to lock Tony inside the study before hurting him for good. He squeezed his eyes shut when he heard Tony slam his fists against the massive wood from the other side, shouting obscenities. Bruce knew it was wrong, but he needed to get away before things would escalate further.  
  
He returned twenty minutes later, face and ears flushed red from the cold winter air and stopped at the bottom of the stairs to listen for any sounds. When there were none, he took the stairs one by one, braced himself, and unlocked the door. The sight that greeted him almost made him do a double take. Tony Stark had taken out all of his rage and fury on the interior of his father's former office.

On his search for what was probably anything to drink or smoke, he must have found something far more upsetting. The whole room was a mess; looking right out of a crime scene. Drawers were scattered all over the floor, some broken in two, and all of them empty. Bruce found Tony sitting propped up against the mahogany desk, knees drawn up to his chest and weeping softly into his arms. It almost broke Bruce's heart.

He walked up to him and knelt down right in front. "Hey... Tony, I'm sorry, okay? Hey. Look at me. Can we talk?” A slow shake of the head. “Nothing more to say.” The frown on Bruce's face went unnoticed. Bruce then put a hand on Tony's forearm, and when he did not get shrugged off, he began to apply soothing rubs on the thin fabric of the long-sleeved pajama.

“Yes, there is. I know it's hard on you – all of it- but we'll get through this together like I said.” Tony's tear-streaked face appeared as he raised his head. He sniffed out loud and leaned his head back against the wooden panel. A piece of paper was in his hand. “Look what I found.” When he turned it around, Bruce saw it was a picture of Howard and Maria Stark on what looked to be a vacation.  
  
Bruce observed the young and carefree looking people in the photo; far different than those whom he had met. Tony's deflated voice interrupted his thoughts. “See how happy they look, Bruce? They never were that happy with me around.” The Gothamite swallowed around a constricted throat. “That is not true.” Further words failed him, the gap he left behind big enough for Tony to break it with a brusque snort.

“Fucking right it is! I was never good enough for them - for him. Bet he thought it would've been better if I'd never been born. Then they would've stayed happy.” The blunt statement almost managed to render Bruce speechless anew. “What are you talking about? You were their only son!” Weary, Tony bobbed his head and chuckled mirthlessly without meeting Bruce's eye.  
  
“Exactly. Such a fucking disappointment. Always was, always will be. And now you feel the same.” Incredulous as to the conclusions Tony had come up with, Bruce's grip on his arm tightened. “I... what? No! I don't!” Tony sniffled into his sleeve and looked away, down at a spot on the carpet next to his foot. “Sure you do, Moosh. I can't even blame you.” Bruce chewed hard on his bottom lip, gnawing off skin in the process.  
  
“Come on, let's get you back to bed.”

As he stood and looked down at the frail form, Tony remained sitting. “What for? I won't be able to sleep, Bruce. And if I do I get nightmares.” He sounded on the verge of crying again. His friend stared into the distance for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “I'll see what I can do.” When Bruce came back, he had a small white bottle in his hand. “You may take one and a half of these to help you sleep. Only this once, though.”

The way Tony stared at the bottle of Ambien for much longer than necessary caused something in the back of Bruce's throat start to tighten. He made sure to double-check the many closets and drawers of the house for any hidden bottles later that night, just before going to bed. Thankfully he found no more than the present one and took it into his custody.

It was right then, with Tony sleeping soundlessly next to him after taking the prescribed dose of sleeping pills, that Bruce Wayne allowed his fear for his boyfriend's life to seep through. Drifting off around 3 am, he was too tired and fast asleep to notice the shorter boy tossing and turning next to him. With his heart hammering fast and hard against his chest, Tony tiptoed around the bed and reached for the nightstand on Bruce's side.

Careful not to bump against any unmoving obstacles, Tony inched towards the bathroom and closed the door behind him. As he sat there in the pitch dark, the enamel rim from the bathtub was cold on the back of his thighs. His shaking fingers managed to unscrew the lid of the small plastic bottle only at the third try. The last words he whispered went unheard inside the large marble-tiled bathroom.  
  
“I'm sorry, Moosh.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Batsocks deserves a medal for kicking my behind to get my head back in the game! Thank you for convincing me the college boys need some further suffering *blows kiss*


	11. Chapter 11

Far-away sounds began to register in his mind at some point. They consisted of wailing sirens, hectic voices, and a steady, but quiet beep of a machine close by. The scenery was eerie as Tony Stark proceeded to look around and saw a sterile white hospital room with a single bed. Inside the bed lay a still, dark haired boy who was attached to the beeping machine. Next to the bed sat a devastated Bruce Wayne, face buried in his palms.  
  
From the way his shoulders heaved, he was failing miserably at trying not to cry.  
  
_'Am I dead?'_

The thought somehow agitated him, and at the same time caused the monitor to give a few more irregular blips and beeps. The vision in front of Tony's eyes faded away, only to be replaced by a warm sensation around the fingers of his right hand. “Tony? Can you hear me?” Bruce's voice was close to his ear, sounding nasal and weak.  
  
“Mhm.”

He tried to swallow, only to feel like his throat was raw and on fire. Tony had to force himself to stay calm and not give in to a massive coughing fit. When he blinked his eyes open, the first thing he saw was a white ceiling. With care, he turned his head until the worried countenance of his friend swam into his vision. Wayne Jr looked like death warmed over; pale and drawn.

"Did you do it on purpose?”

The blunt question came out hoarse, but Bruce avoided looking at him even as he spoke. He sniffled and wiped at his eyes instead. “Because if you did, the doctors said you'll need to be put on suicide watch.” At the prospect of being cooped up and observed at the hospital for an indefinite amount of time, Tony inwardly panicked. “No, I... no. I didn't... I--“ At a loss for words, Tony grasped his boyfriend's hand.

“All I want is to go home. Please? Can we go home?” Bruce looked crestfallen and helpless. “I don't know. They said they'll keep you overnight to make sure, and see about treating you outpatient.” Tony stared at the Velcro cuff around his arm. “I don't need treatment, I simply made a mistake – I just wanted to rest... sleep. Moosh, c'mon. I didn't want to disturb your sleep, and...” He pinched the Gothamite's long fingers.

“Take me home with you. Please.”  
Bruce slipped out of his grasp and slowly got to his feet. He looked way older than almost 23 years.  
“I'll go speak to the doctor.”

When he returned after over half an hour of trying to convince the chief resident that Tony had overdosed on accident, Tony was asleep. The squeak of the chair caused him to stir and flutter his eyes open. “You were gone s'long, Moosh. Can we... can we go now?” Bruce fixated a spot on the pillow to avoid looking at those pleading brown eyes. “No. I'm afraid you'll have to stay until tomorrow, for safety measures.”  
  
The other boy's face visibly fell. “Why? I don't wanna stay here all alone! No, Moosh, please, you gotta do something.” Tony used his free hand, the one that was not attached to the monitor, to wipe its back over his mouth. “Do they have any fucking idea who I am? They cannot force me to...” At that, Bruce raised his chin with something akin to defiance.

“Exactly. They know and they can, Tony. And if it's keeping you safe and out of the line of potential paparazzi fire, I agree.”  
Stark Jr's jaw worked for a few heartbeats, as if he was trying to find the proper words.  
“Fine, okay. Go. I'll see you tomorrow then, right?”  
  
He turned his head into the opposite direction, squinting hard at the build-in closets. Bruce rose with slow movements. “I'll be here at 9 the latest to pick you up.” Seeing Tony did not make a move to acknowledge him again, he bent over the bed to press a misplaced kiss upon the temple closest to him. “Get some rest.” Once the door had fallen into its lock, Tony allowed the soundless tears to run down freely into the pillow.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Two days after they had returned to the Stark townhouse, Bruce went to answer the doorbell.  
“Oh. Are you living here now as well?”  
The bald head of Obadiah Stane tilted slightly as his eyes scrutinized the young Gothamite.

“As long as Tony needs me around, yeah.” Bruce was blocking the doorway in all of his 6'1 broad-shouldered glory. Stane gave a sparse smile. “That's actually why I'm here. I've been trying to reach him for nearly a week now, but something seems wrong with the telephone.” Bruce scanned the scene behind the tall man. When he did not spot any paparazzi, police officers, or security guards, he stepped aside.

The dark hardwood front door fell soundly shut behind them.  
“Where is Tony anyhow?”  
With a brisk gesture, Wayne Jr ushered the uninvited guest into the salon closest to the foyer.  
  
“Sleeping.”

Without bothering for further accommodation, Stane took a seat inside a wing chair, crossed his legs, and pointedly raised his arm to check his watch. Bruce remained standing by the posh Victorian sliding doors and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie jacket. His astute eyes darted over Stane's shiny dress shoes, immaculate suit, and up to the heavy Rolex watch.  
  
“It's 1:30 in the afternoon. Is he still partying each and every night? Ah, to be young, rich, and have no responsibilities whatsoever.” The pungent sarcasm hidden behind Stane's singsong voice made Bruce dig his fingernails into his palms. “No, that's not it! He's far from being in the mood to party if you really want to know!” His hissed out comment made the elder man put his elbows upon the armrests and steeple his fingers.

“It seems you're quite upset about the current situation, too, --” Stane paused, trying to recall the necessary tidbit of personal information. Wayne's face darkened further. “It's Bruce.” Stane smirked. “Right, _Bruce_. Tony never mentioned you before, so-” Completely unapologetic, he then reached inside his jacket and produced a slim, silver square box. Inside were neatly lined up cigarettes, of which he shoved one between his lips.

Out of forced courtesy, Obadiah eyed the young man across from him, lighter in hand. “May I?” Even before Bruce had nodded once, smoke filled the air. Stane took a deep drag and exhaled. “So what's wrong with Tony? I mean, of course, his parents died in the most tragic of ways, but – and I think you're agreeing with me here if you're really _that_ good a friend – they never were _real_ close all those years.” 

The frown between Bruce's brows deepened further. "The whole thing got to him hard. A lot harder than you might think." Stane's eyes narrowed. “So what you're saying is that Tony is... suicidal?” Bruce swallowed and avoided his gaze by inspecting at the sideboard next to him. “No, but...” Stane squeezed out his cigarette in a small ebony ashtray on the sideboard. "But what? Has something happened?”

His meaty presence moved out of the wing chair and came to stand in front of the Gothamite. “I may not be Tony's legal guardian, but you do know that he is supposed to take over Stark Industries once he turns 21 in a few months, don't you, boy?” Bruce frowned at the furniture. “Yes.” His voice was barely a whisper. Stane smelled of tobacco and heavy cologne as he invaded the younger man's space.

“Has he tried to end his life in your presence?”  
Bruce completely missed out on the hawk-like expression Stane watched him with.  
“It was an accident, he-... it was unintentional.”

“That's what he told you.”

“Tony wouldn't lie to me!”

“Tony is not himself at the moment - you just told me so yourself.”

“But still...”

“Maybe some instant medical treatment would be the best solution for him at this point.”

“... no, that's not what he'd want. We can figure this out; together. I can help him.”

“Do you really want to burden yourself with the guilt if something happens to him?”  
  
The sound of coughing from behind interrupted their increasingly audible conversation. Tony stood on the last but two steps of the mighty staircase, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and some oversized pajama pants. “What's going on here?” His stance was weary as he leaned against the banister. Obadiah Stane dissected his overall appearance before he broke into a too wide and too cheerful grin.

"Tony - there you are. I just wanted to come around to check on you. Burt here has told me you've..." At that moment, something in the young Gothamite made him take over; something untamed and forcefully protective. "My goddamn name is Bruce, Bruce Wayne, and I didn't tell you a blasted thing, okay!?" Both Stane and Tony looked baffled at his sudden outburst. Cheeks flushed, Bruce stormed to the front door.  
  
"I think it's best if you leave now, Tony needs to rest!"  
Even as the Gothamite yanked it open and stared at Stane with defiance, the latter focused back on the Stark scion.  
"My dear boy, I just wanted to see how you are faring. You look like death warmed over."  
  
Tony raised a thin arm to scratch his nape, unmindful of the many pitted and scabbed over punctures he exposed. "Been better. Thanks for steppin by, Obie. I.. uh... we should prolly fix the phone again." Obadiah Stane looked over to where Bruce stood and stared him down. Then his eyes found Tony again. "You had me worried there for a bit, Anthony. Why don't you give me a call as soon as your watchdog allows you to?"

In three long strides, Stane stood in the doorway. The glint of something menacing lay in his eyes.  
"Good afternoon, Mister Wayne."  
Bruce did not reply and continued to glower at him until the bald man got into his car.

As soon as the door fell into its lock, Bruce turned the key twice and leaned his back against it, catching Tony's spaced out, helpless glance. "He tried to press for what happened, but I didn't tell him." When Stark Jr did not reply and only blinked at him like an owl, Bruce gritted his teeth and moved to guide his friend back upstairs. Tony's skin felt too cold to the touch.  
  
"We don't need him or his help, Tony. We got this." 

 


	13. Chapter 13

At the beginning of February, New York's sidewalks were hidden underneath a good four inches of snow. After stomping booted feet clean on the doormat outside, Bruce shifted the bags in his arms and pushed the door open with his shoulder. Tony had become a finicky eater, despite all of his lover's tries to fatten him up. Wayne Jr saw to keeping the fridge stocked nevertheless and usually went grocery shopping by himself.  
  
“I'm back!”  
  
No answer, except for some far away shuffling down the corridor. When he entered the large kitchen area, the ghost of a shadow that used to be Tony Stark was scurrying around, dressed in a grubby robe, his back towards him. Pleased to see him up and awake, Bruce put down the two large brown paper bags and went to greet his friend. Tony turned around and stared at him like a deer in the headlights with hollowed out eyes.  
  
“Fuck, B, don't'cha sneak up on me like that!”  
Dumbfounded, Bruce watched his unsteady fingers fumble with something behind his back.  
“I didn't sneak up on you. What's that? What are you doing?”  
  
Seeing he had no way of getting out of the situation, Tony turned and inspected his setup.  
“Just a li'l speedball. Combo of cocaine and heroin. Won't take long, I'll just...”  
The matter-of-fact voice killed the last bit of restraint Bruce inhabited.  
  
With an angry roar, he brushed down all of Tony's meticulous build-up on the kitchen counter. Glasses, spoons, lighter and the bag with white powder clattered to the floor. Tony stared at him, eyes wide in shock. Then his mouth warped into a manic grimace. “ARE YOU CRAZY, YOU FUCKER?!” At once Wayne Jr lunged forward, grabbed the lapels of his dirty robe, and slammed him backward.  
  
“YOU are crazy - for throwing your life away like not giving a fuck, and for making me watch!”

Their eyes darted in between each other; furious, incredulous, helpless. Eventually, Bruce stopped pushing him into the sharp edge of the granite counter, as his friend started to wince from pressure. Instead, the Gothamite pulled him close and put his forehead upon a slim shoulder. “No more. No more of this. I'm done.” At the finality in his voice, Tony Stark sagged in his embrace.

Sliding down onto the cold, hard marble tiles of the kitchen, Bruce Wayne held him tight as he wept, ignoring the smell of staleness, and stared out past Tony's fragile form into nothingness. In between Stark Jr's heartbreaking sobs, he was eventually able to make out some coherent sentences. “God, but I need you, Bruce. I need you in my life. Please don't leave me! I cannot make it alone.”  
  
The Gothamite cleared his throat a few times before he was able to answer.  
“You know I feel the same, but you need help, Tony. Professional help. Show me that you care.”  
A weak nod of the head against his shoulder was his only answer.

When Anthony Edward Stark set a foot into the Armed Acres rehab center in Putnam County, 90 miles north of New York City at the tender age of 20, little did he know it would be the first day of many months to come.

 


	14. Chapter 14

“So, how are you faring these days, Anthony?”  
From his place in a plush leather seat, Tony wiggled into a cross-legged position and grimaced.  
“Doing... better, I guess. No more of those dizzy spells. Oh, and I can smell stuff again.”  
  
The psychiatrist gave his trademark smile and jotted something down on his clipboard. The scratching sound made Tony wince and tap his fingers upon the armrest for distraction. Doctor Lee was a perceived 70-year-old, haggard man with thinnish white hair and a pair of tinted glasses that adjusted to the brightness of the surroundings. Tony abhorred the glasses only a trifle less than being called Anthony but willed himself to behave.  
  
Doctor Lee was, in fact, the most patient and friendly counselor he had encountered at Armed Acres in those past three months.

“And what about your girlfriend? The one you said had to go through all of your struggles?”  
Stark Jr bit on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from correcting his sham.  
“I...dunno. We haven't been in touch for the past three or so weeks.”

More scribbling erupted. Tony busied himself counting the brass curtain rings. Doctor Lee's voice interrupted him on ring number 42.

“And was that your decision entirely? After all, you've told me you had been very close.” The doctor's voice was non-accusing and merely inquiring, but it caused the young Stark heir to shift with unease. “Hmm, well, I've just recently come to realize just how much of a giant douche I've been, okay? And what I put h...er through seeing me all fucked up like that... rock bottom and all...”  
  
The psychiatrist tilted his head and stopped writing. His mustache moved when he spoke. It was as white as his hair. “That is understandable. But beyond those feelings, something else is bothering you.” It was no question. Tony nodded, eyes drawn to his clipped fingernails. “I'm not even sure if she wants to ever see me again... maybe I forever destroyed what we had when I was... y'know... trying to destroy myself and such.”  
  
Doctor Lee expressively underlined something on his notepad before he searched for his patient's gaze again. “You said she never gave you a feeling of self-consciousness in all of your time together.” A quick and determined shake of the head was his answer. “No, she never did.” The psychiatrist nodded as if he had already known the answer.  
  
“Then what makes you think she would reject you, after you are on your way to become a better person than before? Wouldn't it be something she has longed for ever since? To be able to trust you again?” Mulling over those words for the longest time, Tony eventually exhaled audibly through his nose and raised a hand to his mouth to gnaw at his sleeve.

“I am not sure I trust myself at this point of time... yet. What if I crash and burn again?”  
Doctor Lee put his pen and notebook aside and folded his hands upon crossed legs.  
“You must make a choice to take a chance, Anthony, and I have faith in you to choose wisely.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

It was just another rainy, gray day at Wayne Manor. The calendar on the wall stated it to be a Sunday, mid-May 1992. Right in the middle of his tenth set of pushups, Bruce neither heard the doorbell ring nor bothered to interrupt his activities, even when Alfred Pennyworth stood in the door of the basement and watched him. “Master Bruce, there is a delivery for you.”

Still benefiting from his experiences overseas, the young Gothamite had dedicated a large part of the Manor's foundation to become some sort of large training area for his growing ambitions of mastering the art of jujitsu. Sweat dripped onto the rice-straw floor as he glimpsed up. “Why don't you take it for me?” At the underlying annoyance in his question, the butler simply tilted his head.  
  
“It is a special delivery.”  
  
Sullen, the young Gothamite scrambled to his feet, rubbed away the sweat with his t-shirt before putting it back on, and trotted upstairs. The huge main doors of Wayne Manor yawned at him, and through the misty curtain of rain, he saw a figure standing outside, waiting. “Remember when I said next time there'll be roses, so you know I'm serious?” Dumbstruck, Bruce Wayne stared at the huge bouquet of red Baccara roses.  
  
When it moved, the slim countenance of Tony Stark appeared behind; clean-shaven and with his hair and shoulders soaking wet. The smile he wore was a timid one as his huge eyes spoke of anxiety. “It doesn't get any more serious than this.” Stark glimpsed down atop the magnificent petals, cleared his throat, and looked back up. “I love you, Bruce Wayne. I've loved you from the moment I laid my eyes on you at MIT.”  
  
The Gothamite inhaled audibly and stepped aside to let his guest in. Tony, however, did not move. “You're getting all wet, come on in.” Insistent, Tony held out the flowers into his direction and shook his head. “No, I... Take them, please, I need to know I'm... you're...” He paused, frowning at himself for the lack of words. "I missed your birthday three months ago - I missed out on so much... and I don't know how to..."  
  
Bruce's fingers brushed against his as he took the floral arrangement.  
Then he reached out with his free hand and grabbed Tony's fingers.  
“Come.”

* * *

~epilog~

  
_'Tony Stark taking over his company at 21. A Breath of Fresh Air for Stark Industries?'_  
  
_'Young Bruce Wayne on his way to becoming Wayne Enterprises' Top Dog'_

  
“My headline's better than yours.”  
Enervated, Bruce lowered his copy of the Daily Planet and cast his opposite a rotten look across the large breakfast table.  
“First of all, who cares? How old are you anyhow? And second - it's _not_!”

From behind a New York Times, two dark brown eyes sparkled back at him with glee.  
“Imma go make a mean CEO. You... not so much. 'Top Dog', pshh. Top Puppy much rather.”  
Before those hazel eyes could become real angry, Stark moved over to grab Wayne's chin.

“But if you're gonna show them the beast _I_ always get to see at night, Moosh, I might just take it back.”  
Once their languishing kiss ended, Bruce blinked his eyes open and curled his lips.  
“Better be prepared to have your wealthy ass kicked then, Stark. This means corporate war.”

**END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, this is it. 
> 
> Here's where I get to be all awkward and say thank you to anyone who read, commented, or gave kudos. Special thanks to Alluring Pig(gy) who planted the idea in my head, and to Batsocks for supplying me with endless patience, glorious gifs, and a lot of info on the US educational system. You rock!


End file.
